Adventist Review Podcasts

What is the speed of trust?

It’s an odd question, since rapid acceleration and safe, human connection seem antithetical—moving in opposite directions.

And there’s the point—and the reason we don’t attempt lasting friendships while driving Formula 1 cars, in the backstretch of an 800-meter race, or while racing each other to the top of the corporate ladder.

Speed implies competition, a desire to be better than the other. Trust cannot rush, for it unfolds only when our usual pride and combativeness have been set aside.

The God who inhabi...

We come naturally by our self-absorption. From our earliest moments, we’re congratulated for taking first steps, trying new foods, mastering new skills, for learning how to navigate the myriad complexities of an ever-widening world. The story is, and has always been, about us—our goals, our striving, our gaining, our getting.

But then one day the world refused to be our private oyster.  There was no pearl inside—just grit and sand and disappointment. And we began to long from somewhere deeper than the ocean floor for rescue from our pain, our foolishness, our disillusion with ourselv...

Grace isn’t fully knowable inside the monuments we’ve built. Our finest structures merely hint at what the Scriptures call the “breadth and length and height and depth” (Eph 3:18) of love the Father gives us.

Cathedral arches just suggest the soaring kindness of our God. Our well-stocked libraries of knowledge—comprehensively collected; exquisitely curated—tell but a fraction of the story, deeper than our minds can grasp and gentler than our hearts can feel.

Until you stand upon the ocean shore, calling actively to mind that all your sins have been cast into its depths when...

We dream of exploits that ensure our fame—of fortunes gained or mountains climbed or roles where we control the lives of other, lesser mortals. We gather things—disposables—to fill the hole made urgent by our angry greed.

But we would gladly trade them all to be two modest, undramatic things at once: both deeply loved and finally forgiven.

No accolades or billions earned will ever soothe a heart that can’t be reconciled. No power can heal the wound within unless it offers what no human skill can offer.

For these we need...

It’s every parent’s greatest joy to see a child at play—freely, joyously at play. And children—of whatever age—only play when they understand they’re safe—deeply, seriously safe.

We don’t play on battlefields, in lightning storms, or when we doubt we’ll ever see tomorrow. And so the God of Scripture frequently must wait until we’ve outlived our fears before we grasp the fullness of His affection. We spend a lifetime learning just how richly we are loved, and why our God is always murmuring, “Fear not.” “Be not afraid.” Or better yet, “You can stop...

HEALED ON THE WAY

Learning grace is slow and hard the way recovery of any kind is usually slow and hard.

When a bone is broken or a muscle torn, no supply of godly wishing can speed the pace at which the healing happens. This moment’s not for optics, not for show: nothing less than patient, cellular recovery can make us whole again.

And so no project that contemplates the complete overhaul of our personal theology, the transformation of our hearts and minds, and the mending of our wounded relationships should be de...

Ah, to be the wounded one—the one who gets to be the powerful forgiver.  We covet this rare role because we’re usually more sinning than we’re sinned against.  And when it comes our turn to show the grace once given us, we linger with the choice, as if it were a heavy thing to pardon what’s been done.

We can’t, of course, refuse forgiveness outright:  Jesus tied our own forgiveness to the habit of forgiving.  But first, a little groveling, we say.  Some real contrition, perhaps a tear or ten.  Some promises to never—ever—in...

“Forgive me,” we say flippantly, painting on a shallow smile, when we discover we are misaligned with someone greater or more powerful—someone who might make us hurt.

We view our error lightly—just a minor inconvenience—and we hope the one offended will quickly do the same. Why do the humbling work of owning all that happened and acknowledging its impact?

But true forgiveness is a thoughtful, time-intensive mercy—never rushed if genuine; never brushed away if real. Unless we face the injury we’ve caused, we ask for restoration without repentance, a mere smoothing of r...

Wherever grace is welcomed and received, joy follows, just as daylight follows dawn.

And so we can read backwards from so many grayed-out, joyless souls to learn how few have heard and loved and lived the gospel. All fearful, anxious following of Jesus—all dim preoccupation with the things we've done or left undone—reveals that we are still in darkness, wrestling with the shadows Jesus rose to vanquish. “In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5).

So hea...

In every soul who has ever been healed, conviction rises that they must tell the story of how God’s goodness rebuilt a broken body or a wounded spirit. 

Bones got mended; diseases conquered; mobility advanced; relationships renewed. When grace restores what pain has taken, “Then our mouth was filled with laughter,

and our tongue with shouts of joy;

then it was said among the nations,

“The Lord has done great things for them” (Psalm 126:2). 

We gladly own we couldn’t—didn’t—heal ourselves. No self-help remedies can knit the muscles o...

My pride is stung. My spirit’s wounded. The untrue, unjust thing that someone said, that someone wrote, went viral with unheard-of speed, fanned on by evil angels.

And rising with the bitter righteousness of bile, the fantasy of sweet revenge becomes more urgent every hour. “Strike back!” say Truth and Justice. “Set the twisted record straight. Unmask the gossiper for who he is, for what she wrote. Redeem your ruined reputation.”

And then Grace whispers, “You have already been redeemed. Your reputation is the best that it could ever be because your life is hid with Chr...

If you revisit all the beaches where you built sandcastles in the sun, chances are, you’ll never even find a one. 

The constant pull of wash and wave reduces all the outposts where we once asserted sovereignty. Our turrets and our towers, our moats and battlements have long since lost the struggle to insist on what was never really ours.

And so it is as grace subdues the castles of our pride and self-assertion. The lovely, unrelenting rhythm of God’s kindness and His mercy overruns our fierce objections and erodes our staked positions. While...

It’s the most famous line ever written about grace by an author not recorded in God’s Word: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

Every week, around the globe, it’s sung and said uncounted times, bringing joy and certainty to billions of believers. Whole lives are built on this.

But the lived reality of grace requires that we move beyond the first person voice, and grasp our role within the choir. For while grace operates for each of us as individuals, we learn it by and through and with—a...

Savoring the creamy richness of delectable milk chocolate.

Settling into the plush leather of a luxury car.

Dangling your feet in the stunningly blue water of a South Pacific lagoon.

What do these very different life experiences have in common? Each is richly imaged for us by adroit advertisers who correctly sense how desperately we seek relief from everyday hecticity.

We need something to break the cycle: we need a respite from the crushing stress.

But the Word of God reminds us that we manufacture most of all that...

What is it in our restless hearts that cannot graciously receive a gift?

A friend invites us to a grand, delightful meal, and even before dessert is served, we’re busy evening the score. We fail to taste the kindly moment because we’re painfully obsessed with making certain our account with one we call a friend is “balanced”—even though it is a dinner spread and not a spreadsheet gleaming in the candlelight.

And so we say to God when He so kindly offers us eternity through what His Son has sacrificed: “That’s truly nice—and...

What makes the light of Easter last long past the hymns and lilies?

The ground beneath our feet has moved. The grim, unshaken certainties of loss and grief and toil and death have finally succumbed—and to such stunningly good news: “For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor.15.22).

Our muddied tale of violence and pain has yielded in a burst of light that stubbornly rejects a fade: “Christ died for our sins, just as the Scriptures said. He was buried, and He was raised from the dead on...

In the blackness of Sunday morning, the prodigal opened His eyes and murmured softly, “I will arise and go to my Father, and will say to Him, ‘Father, I have borne the sins of every human who has ever lived. I am worthy to be called your Son.’”

And a reunion postponed for 33 years split the midnight of our world. Out of wretchedness came joy. Out of brokenness came healing. Love triumphed over death. Grace reclaimed what sin had stolen. The Liberator came back to life.

Then the voices of a billion angels shook the galaxies...

Left to ourselves, what we know of forgiveness would soon disappear. Left to ourselves, acts of mercy would soon drown in the ocean of self-centeredness. Left to ourselves, what light and warmth still shines in our communities would soon go dark. Why help a neighbor, when he is just one more competitor for dwindling resources?

But the good news is that we are never left to ourselves. Into this dark, unforgiving environment, where greed ran rampant and trust had disappeared, God shared His best—His Son. “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have...

A gospel song from long ago gathered the hope of millions into a yearning vision of peace: 

“Someday, a bright new wave

Will break upon the shore; 

And there'll be no sickness

No more sorrow, no more war;

And little children

Never will go hungry any more . . .”

That bright new world hasn’t yet arrived. The headlines rage. The nations totter. Famished children in refugee camps wait for promised bread and water. 

But for believers in Jesus, our reality has already begun to change, even as...

It never was a straight-line thing, this love we call the grace of God. It circles and surrounds, embraces and includes, until the throngs that praise God’s name are far too vast to count. 

In grace, Jesus forgives me. With gratitude, I offer you forgiveness. Because you have been liberated, you pass that grace to one who has offended you. And he in turn, when I offend him, offers me forgiveness. “Be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you” (Eph 4:32). 

So grace begins with us as indiv...

Those the world calls saints weren’t typically the brittle, stained-glass figures of our pious imagination. The reason their stories are still told is that they trusted God more fully, accepted His freely-offered love, and opened their lives profoundly to His grace. 

Their story can be yours as well, for the Bible calls every believer in Christ a “saint.” The apostle Paul interceded for every man or woman who has ever trusted the grace of Jesus: “I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height an...

We can’t make ourselves more loveable to God by years of good behavior. And yet, because of grace, we seek to do what pleases Him.

We can’t earn even half an hour in heaven by acts of sympathy or kindness. And yet, because of grace, we spend unnumbered hours caring for the least of all His little ones.

Those shining moments when we sometimes rise to our potential don’t make us even one bit more beloved by God. His love for us cannot be amplified, expanded, or improved.

Grace cancels everyt...

No one can grasp the grace of God unless God teaches him, embraces him, and holds him in an unexpected kindness.

There’s no intellect so vast; there’s not a mystic so devout that he can plumb the depth of love by private contemplation.

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord. “And My ways are far beyond anything you could imagine” (Isa 55:8).

Only the mind of God could Father-forth the grace of God. Only the Son who fully knows God’s mind could satisfy His justice and still manifest His love. Only...

The gospel is only as good as the God who asks us to believe it. If He’s the disappointed, vengeful deity we have pictured in our frightened imaginations, then we do well to hide, to stay away: why would we risk ourselves with Him?

But if Christ is, as His Word says, the Lord whose love for us survives even our worst choices and most defiant behaviors, then we may crawl out from beneath the bed and step out from the shadows.

When I am loved at my lowest and embraced even at the he...

A muscular young athlete, bench-pressing massive iron; stonemasons, deeply-focused, chiseling the capstone for a tall cathedral spire; a driven young executive, burning midnight oil as she assesses market data.

What do these pictures have in common? All celebrate intense, prodigious effort, spent to take the doer to the top in sport, in craftsmanship, in business.

Our world’s awash in images like these: they are the icons of our functional religion. We learn so early to depend on no one else’s effort. Faith, we say, is chiefly what you think about yourself.

And...

It’s not called “practicing” for nothing.

On some great future day, the liberating, life-affirming grace we each receive from Jesus will also be the grace we give as freely to those who wound us, irritate our peace, or call out for our love and care.

Between the “now” and “then” there’s a lot of practicing to do—a daily repetition of kind words, forgiving acts, and chosen, holy silences. Like hours we spent as children with pianos, violins, and flutes, we learn the patterns of the Jesus life—not all at once, but with increasing Spir...

If you’ve ever been forgiven; if you’ve been held when you were wrong, or bitter, or confused—you know the grace that never can repay the giver. 

So we surrender to the goodness God implants in human hearts. “We know how dearly God loves us, because He has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with His love”

(Rom 5:5). 

We come to understand God’s grace when we are loved extravagantly, without apparent cause, and with no expectation of response. We vow with everything within that we will love as we’ve been...

“When I’m deep in a hole, lower a rope, not a shovel.”

The last thing we need when we’ve dug ourselves profoundly into pain or confusion or sin is more of the same. Our best efforts got us there: our best efforts won’t deliver us. The pit only gets deeper—and so does our frustration. As Scripture says, “There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death” (Prov 14:12).

Rescue only comes from above—from Someone who both sees our plight and can do something to change it. God’...

It’s a scene played out 10 million times in the 30 days since Christmas: “You shouldn’t have . . .” “But I didn’t get you anything. . .” “I didn’t hear we were exchanging gifts . . .”

A stranger from another planet might conclude that our annual Christmas gift-giving is actually an exquisite balancing act—designed to keep each party from feeling awkward for having received an unreciprocated gift. We desperately dislike the sense that accepting kindness creates an obligation we must rapidly erase.

Thus every January we work diligently to restore the “giving equilibrium.” We send overnight parcels, repurposed fruitcakes, and texts that...

That impulse in our souls to pray—to find our knees; to stammer out the words—grows from an early, dim awareness of just how much we need the grace of God.

We pray because we cannot fix our world or ourselves. We kneel because we’re powerless to heal sick children, pay the bills, or mend unhealthy marriages. We call out as we weep for all the clash between our living and God’s giving.

And even that first impulse is itself a gift of grace: “For we do not know what we should pray for a...

Like all the stories Jesus told, this one comes very close to home.

We justly celebrate the prodigal. He finds himself among the pigs, then soberly concludes that he should go back home. And we deplore that bitter brother whose body never left the farm, but whose hard heart had left the Father long ago.

Unlike each other as they seem, both shared a common malady. Neither prized the love that gave them birth, that nurtured them 10,000 days, that waited—on the porch and at the table—to see if love would change their lives.

The diet lasts a dozen days. The treadmill hasn’t spun 10 miles. The Bible sits where it was left, unopened and unsavored.  We grieve the effortless unraveling of all the goals we wanted to achieve—to lose the weight; increase the steps; find hope and quiet in God’s Word.  

We are too close to dreams undone, to lofty visions gone awry.

So how does God address our lack of grit and gratitude? 

“I will be faithful to you and make you Mine, and you will finally know Me as the Lord,” God says (Hosea 2...

This painful year has made us clear on what we want for Christmas. Though Lexus and Mercedes-Benz are sure we want a gleaming ride with giant ribbons on the roof, we have no miles we want to drive. The ads all tease us with dark fantasies on Amazon or Netflix, but we still have our darkness to get through. The tech toys that we bought for sport have only one compelling use this year.

We want each other more than gifts. We want the long and lingering embrace of two-year olds who won’t let go; the be...

Ten thousand earnest Christmas pageants offer us some cherub child, dressed as an angel, stepping forth to utter words that sound well-nigh impossible.

“Fear not,” he says, “for behold I bring you tidings of great joy.” (Luke 2:10).

“Fear not?” we think, but never say. “Does God not know our real lives?” That declaration echoing through centuries has shaped how many think of God. We think He’s chiding us for being quite normally afraid of that which ought to terrify—a brilliant light; an other-worldly stranger shouting in the night; the loudest, largest choir Earth has ever heard.

It isn’t only doubters who bemoan the passing year.

Believers also crouch against the onslaught of the news. Tragic wars that never end; the end of good and gentle folk; the dull monotony of pain that robs our midnight of its sleep.

And one more baby, born into a world where thousands never see one week. 

But here we witness Heaven’s great surprise. In weakness was obscured great strength. That fragile child—He once threw galaxies around, and knows their numbers, range and size. The painful moment of His birth let loose a...

An old regulation from the era when most people traveled by train included this puzzling requirement: “When two trains approach a crossing both shall stop, and neither shall go ahead until the other has passed by.”

The long-ago rule is, of course, a prescription for neither movement nor change. But it sounds just like the ways we all behave when we find ourselves in conflict with someone: neither of us will move until the other has moved first. 

Nations face off with arsenals of bristling armaments; religious groups invoke mutual condemnations for differing beliefs; spouses live...

It is likely the oldest question humanity has ever asked: “What must we do to perform the works of God?”  

And for millennia, honest, searching people have provided their own answers to the question. Magnificent temples and cathedrals have been built; exquisite liturgies have been composed; amazing acts of kindness have unfolded—all in the hope God would be pleased with the work, the toil, the effort, the prayers.  

But when the question was put to the One whom the Bible calls the Son of God, “Jesus answered them, ‘This is the work of God, that you believ...

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.”

The poet’s words from long ago ring true each dawn. It may be finches perching on the feeder; it might be pigeons cooing on some ledge; it could be sparrows clustered on an edge. But somehow, with the rising light, our spirits rise as we discover that God’s world is moving, warming, singing once again. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

Against the midnight of our fears, we hear the Lover of our souls: “Not a single s...

We are not alone . . .

Depending on how you see the universe, that thought could bring you comfort—or deep terror.

If you view everything beyond your fence as threat, as something to be feared, you’ll spend your days defending only what you already have and what you’ve previously learned.

But if, through grace, you can be open to a world where love and beauty grow and blossom, you will taste joy—the joy for which God made you. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good tidings, w...

The mystery is that grace still finds us, hidden well beneath the cellar stairs—angry, broken, sinful, sad.

When we’ve crawled into our painful cave to lick our wounds or plot revenge, we hear the footsteps on the stair. We hear the sound of Jesus’ gentle laughter: “You can stop being afraid now. All-y, all-y—yes—in free!”

The games are finally over. When grace comes seeking you, there’s no more need to hide. What’s wounded starts to heal. Your past all gets forgiven. The lonely all get friended.

Today, get found: step ou...